Page 17 of Married Off by the Duke
Mr. Gill hovered nervously nearby, his spectacles slipping down the bridge of his narrow nose. He poked them back up.
“The dust is getting to me,” she confessed. “I might step outside for some air?—”
“No breaks are permitted, I’m afraid. You work such a short shift. I would have to dock your pay for the time.”
Emma scratched the side of her nose and sighed. She’d been so excited to start her new position that she’d arrived half an hour before opening, but there had been no mention of additional pay for her time, then.
She wasn’t sure what to do about the owner’s request for written permission to work from her father (impossible, as he was deceased). Admitting she was the ward of a prominent duke was out of the question. Yet, if she did not produce a signed letter of approval from her male guardian, she would not be able to continue working.
Emma knew how that conversation would go.
Max, I’d like to work in a bookshop.
Emma, be serious.
I am serious.
Commence exaggerated sighs followed by an outright refusal.
Max would never understand her reasons for wanting to work. Her pin money could be revoked. Her meager savings from teaching at the school weren’t sufficient to secure housing for more than a month or two. Without funds, she would be forever dependent upon people who were indifferent to her welfare.
A duke never had to learn the hard lesson that obligation bred resentment.
Her mother never wanted her in the first place, depositing her with Emma’s grandmother as soon as she was weaned. Gran turned increasingly resentful of having to raise a child in her declining years—despite it being Emma who did most of the chores.
Her father had promptly shipped her off to a cold, rigid finishing school without bothering to meet her first. Emma carved out a place for herself through diligent study, but she never made many friends. She’d only stayed on because she had nowhere else to go except Gracepoint, where there was nothing for her to do but rattle around trying to avoid its owner.
If she wasn’t useful, no one wanted her around.
And there was no way for her to be useful to a duke.
Max had a dizzying number of servants in his employ. She could hardly turn without tripping over a maid offering to relieve her of a shawl, or assist her with a trivial task. He did not need her.
Kiefer’s Fine Books did. Even if it was only to dust tomes that obviously hadn’t been touched by a customer in months.
“Mr. Gill,” she ventured. “Have you considered placing some of these books on a shelf out front for a reduced price?”
“No. Why on earth would I do that?” he asked absently, poring over the sales ledger.
“To attract customers passing by the shop.”
He glanced up.
“They might stop to browse the books, and come inside to purchase one. You’ll have a better opportunity to show them more expensive options than if they never come into the store at all.”
“But I’d have to reduce the price on the ones I put out. They might get stolen or damaged.”
“They aren’t doing much for the shop down here gathering dust, now, are they?”
“A sensible suggestion, Miss Willis. I shall speak with my uncle and perhaps give it a try.”
Pleased, Emma finished her shift and hurried home just in time to change her soiled dress before meeting Max for lunch.
Emma eyed the ball she was meant to hit where it lay on the bright green field and hefted the rubber mallet with which she was meant to do it. Her horse shifted beneath her. Polo seemed like a simple enough sport from the ground. Ride a horse around a field. Hit the ball in the direction of the net. Hope it goes in. Repeat until it does or your team loses.
Perhaps it was a simple game for accomplished equestrians. Emma was not remotely accomplished. She nudged her bay mare’s sides.
“Give her a solid kick!”
